


Whoops

by ClockworkDinosaur



Category: Homestuck
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Post-Sburb/Sgrub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 10:25:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8324269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockworkDinosaur/pseuds/ClockworkDinosaur
Summary: Your name is Dave Strider and you absolutely did not mean to kiss your best friend John Egbert.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [transboy_trash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/transboy_trash/gifts).



> i feel like i'm betraying my Main Ship here smdh
> 
> jkjk, happy birthday Max!!

Your name is Dave Strider and you absolutely did _not_ mean to kiss your best friend John Egbert. Of course not. That's not the kind of dude you are.

(Well... yes it is, and you know that, but you're still coming to terms with it admittedly.)

It was that bottle of whatever the fuck you two found in the cabinet that you ended up sharing, the unidentified liquor shoved behind pots and pans that neither you nor your brother used and at least five goddamn swords.

(Dirk seemed to have a few habits shared with Bro, one of them being leaving swords in stupid places. You try your damnedest not to think about it too hard.)

It was your hormones or whatever. You're a teenager, those were clearly a factor. He was there, he was a warm body to be affectionate towards, and that strong mystery alcohol was clearly blurring your boundaries.

It wasn't the fact that you've had a crush on him since you were thirteen. It wasn't the fact that John's face was bright, either from laughter of from mild intoxication. It wasn't the fact that his deep blue eyes were staring into your red ones unabashedly and undisturbed by the color, a goofy smile on his face as the giggles from whatever lame-ass thing you just said subsided. His black hair was even messier than usual, face flushed, and _wow_ he's cute. The fact that your heart seemed to stop when you realized he was only inches away wasn't at all what drove you forward, your lips pressing against his for a second.

Or two.

Or three.

Your hands are shaking and you hope he doesn't notice. He doesn't move and you pull away, and it kind of feels like your lungs are on fire and you're going to throw up. He blinks at you, lips slightly parted. You search his face for a sign of anything. Disgust, confusion, anger, _anything_.

Instead, the edges of his lips pull up slightly and he's kissing you now, arms wrapped around your neck and soft lips on yours. Neither of you know what you're doing and there's a lot of nose-bumping and awkward giggly break-aparts but you keep going back, hands tangled in hair and bodies close. You can feel his heart thudding through his chest and you realize he can probably feel yours too, beating at a hundred miles a minute.

He pulls away first, his breathing heavy and you entertain the thought that he used some sort of windy magic bullshit to take your breath away too. His face is even more red and his hair somehow more disheveled and you search his face again, terrified of seeing regret or worse there.

Instead he grins that goofy, toothy grin again and it feels like you're going to explode or melt or straight up drop dead because a simple smile should not be doing this to you.

You put on your shades as an excuse to do something with your hands, adjust them over your eyes, (remembering when he gave them to you all those years ago, remembering that it was one of the best birthday presents you ever got, remembering that you probably didn't thank him enough because your thirteen-year-old self was a fucking prick) and smile, trying not to show the fact you're suddenly freezing without him near you.

“So uh,” you start, the alcohol still making your brain fuzzy and words loose. “I actually wanted to do that for a while.”

Why the hell did you just admit that?

John looks away for the first time, still grinning. “I kinda thought so, but I was never really sure enough to say anything. Plus, I never really realized I like guys until recently,” he says with a shrug.

A part of you is relieved that your crush wasn't as obvious as you thought. Another part of you is bitter you didn't make it more obvious. The vast majority of you wants to grab him again and kiss him until you die of asphyxiation, return to life, and kiss him some more.

“You aren't freaked out or anything though?” you ask, your voice just a little bit too worried. “I mean, kissing a guy as cool as me must be a harrowing experience, I understand if you need a moment to swoon or something.”

Smoothed it over with a joke. Perfect job, Strider.

John shakes his head. “I'm not freaked out at all! I'm just... wow!” He runs his hands through his hair, reaching what appears to be an entirely new level of disheveled attractiveness and for the first time you glance away, worried that the heat traveling up your neck will become visible on your face.

“That was a good wow, right?” you ask, not even bothering to control just how small and (disgustingly, distressingly) vulnerable your voice sounds.

Instead of answering with words, you feel his hand on your face and _holy shit_ he's kissing you again, softer and much more deliberate than the sloppy mess you recently disentangled yourselves from.

“Yeah, good wow,” he whispers.

Your name is Dave Strider and you are head-over-heels, heart-racingly, undeniably in love with your best friend.

 


End file.
